


Klance Week 2016

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aliens, Clubbing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Face-Fucking, Future Fic, Introspection, Klance Week 2016, Lance is a thirsty boy, M/M, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, brief mentions of Shallura, date
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>What are we waiting for?</i>
</p><p> </p><p> August 4th: Red<br/>August 5th: Love/Hate<br/>August 6th: Heaven<br/>August 7th: Free Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 4th - Red

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go! This should be fun, right?
> 
> I won’t be working on combined prompts, rather just half of them, whatever inspires me, simply because I can’t think of a way to make them fit together. I’m going to try to be on time with these, but things unforeseen may occur.

**_Anger_ **

When Lance saw him, he was wearing a stupid red crop-top jacket, and they were standing next to each other in front of the main bulletin board. They'd posted the results for the fighter pilot programme. Lance's heart was pounding.

He scanned the list. He frowned. Then he scanned it again, looking desperately for his name. Finally, he pressed a finger to the paper, studying each name individually, top to bottom. His eyes widened, the bottom plummeted out of his stomach. It couldn't be.

“Hey, pal, other people need to read the list as well,” said the guy next to him, and Lance turned to glare.

Jesus Christ, this guy had a fucking mullet, like it was still the Eighties, or something.

“The fuck do you want?” he snapped.

“Look, you're not on the list, get over it.” Mullet waved him away.

That was when Lance recognised him. He'd been there when Takashi Shirogane had spoken to their class, asking questions, the only time Lance had heard him talk. And boy, had he _talked_. He hadn't _shut up_. Whenever Lance raised his hand to ask a question, this douche was already halfway through the next one, and no one else seemed to care. He commandeered Shiro's attention for the entire lesson, monopolising him, Lance's raised hand eventually tiring and flopping back onto the desk. He'd been so fucking bitter that day. Keith... something or other, Lance couldn't remember his last name. From that day forward, he'd sworn that Keith would be his arch-enemy, his rival, his constant source of spite that drove him to success.

“Listen, you-”

A gaggle of other cadets shouldered him out the way to get to the lists. Lance glanced back to the board, spotted the cargo pilot list. There, at the very top, was his name. He stepped away, bit his lip. Keith hadn't even turned around, was just smirking at his own name on the list, and at the very fucking top, too. One of the girls who'd come to check for her own name cooed at him over it. Jealousy and fury boiled in Lance's gut. His fists clenched at his side, and something bubbled up in him, something that tasted acrid and bitter, that felt like a haze.

All he could think about was sinking his fist into that goddamn face.

He raised his fist, began to step forward. His ears were ringing. He could barely see straight.

“Hey now!”

“What the _fu-_!”

He couldn't move. He realised this was because of two hands on his shoulders. Two strong hands connected to two equally heavy arms.

“He's not worth it,” Hunk said. “He doesn't even care, dude. Don't risk your place for him.”

Lance deflated under Hunk's touch. “Yeah. Got it,” he mumbled.

* * *

**_Danger_ **

All Lance can see is red. Red flashing, and red spattered on the inside of his visor, from his broken nose. His ears pound with the alarm.

“Come on! Come on!” he yells, but Blue isn't there. She isn't even in his head, and if she were, he's certain she would be screaming. There's a sickening, bone-quaking, ear-splitting screech as something metallic tears along Blue's flank, making the cockpit shake. He feels like a marble in a can.

He's always getting himself in trouble, isn't he? The thought almost makes him laugh, but he doesn't have time to before his teeth rattle in his head, the very marrow in his bones shivers and he's knocked out cold.

He wakes up, and faceplants straight into more red.

“The idiot's awake!” cries a voice from not too far above him. He looks up, blinks. The pair of arms holding him is too slim to be Hunk's, the chest he feels quite comfortable against too slight to be Shiro's, the figure is too tall to be Pidge and too pale to be Allura. He squints.

“Keith?” he rasps.

“Yeah, it's me, dumbass,” Keith says, but there's no anger in it, no mockery. Lance can't be bothered to resist the embrace (because that's absolutely what it is, no denying it) and allows Keith to cradle him, surprisingly gentle with him. He sighs, shifts himself upright and just allows his forehead to fall on Keith's shoulder. He's still weak, still exhausted, but he doesn't hurt anymore.

“You ok?” Keith asks. Lance nods.

“Yeah... yeah, I am now.” And he allows himself to enjoy Keith's warmth, his weight, his support, in a way he wouldn't usually if he didn't have being fresh from the healing pod as an excuse.

* * *

**_Embarrassment_ **

Lance doesn't know whether he's grateful Keith is avoiding him, or pissed off. When Keith's there, he feels too big for his own skin, and lost in whatever-this-is he's feeling. When Keith isn't there, he's lost to everyone, his thoughts chasing themselves in an endless spiral.

He didn't even know when these feelings went from rivalry to some weird sort of attraction, and it's frankly quite scary. It seems to have snuck up on him, gagging him from behind with chloroform, and now he can't even _function_. He catches himself gazing at Keith when he's being spoken to, lost in wondering what those lips taste like, or whether his hair is as soft as it looks. He sits next to him for meals and has to sit on his own hand to stop himself from reaching for Keith's. He wakes up in the morning with the evidence of half-remembered dreams in his boxers, like he's twelve again and has just realised girls are _a thing_ , except now there's only one object of his obsession, and he happens to be another fifth of the giant warrior robot they create together, and his self-professed rival in everything.

He can't take this itch in his veins, this sudden _want_ he's afraid to give a name to. He doesn't know what to do with it, and it's driving him insane. He's tripping over his own mind, and it's making everything awful.

In the end, he can't take it anymore. He's like a glass filled past the brim, and surface tension can't hold itself forever. It pours over, one day, when he's finally cornered Keith after weeks of being artfully dodged.

He traps Keith against the wall, his arms preventing escape. Keith's face is red, tomato red, brilliant red, his eyes darting from Lance's own to his lips and away, and back again.

Lance presses their lips together, allows himself to sink into the sensation, eyes fluttering closed and his whole body a tangled knot of emotions. Keith makes a noise, a small whimper, and he's pressing back, his fingers tight in Lance's shirt, tugging him closer.

They part, Keith gasps, still blushing. Lance goes back in for the kill, more tongue this time. Keith's fucking _terrible_ at kissing, but he tastes so good it doesn't even matter, Lance is more than content to blissfully float on the fulfillment alone.

When they finally break away from each other again, Keith's still flushed, but Lance suspects it now might have more to do with lack of air and the way their bodies are pressed together, chest to chest. Lance can feel his heat through their clothes, it makes him light-headed.

“I... thought you'd never...” Keith mumbles. Lance grins.

“I was gonna get around to it eventually,” he says. Keith laughs, breathlessly, like he can barely believe his luck right then, and Lance can't help it if his heart's speeding up and his own cheeks are heating.

* * *

**_Passion_ **

Keith's mouth is hot against his skin, his teeth sharp, his tongue cool. Lance's breath hitches, he grins as Keith heads lower, his fingers in Keith's hair. Trembling fingers go for his fly, brush against his straining cock, and he bites his lip.

“Yeah, babe, that's it...” he gasps, his hips jerking up. He's _so ready_ for this, so, so ready. He's never wanted anything like he's wanted this – hell, he's never wanted any _one_ like he wants Keith right now. And he has to admit that looking down and seeing Keith that close to his cock is the most beautiful thing he's seen in ages.

Keith is hesitating, though. Lance props himself up on his elbow, his hand going from Keith's hair to his cheek.

“Something up?” he asks. Keith swallows, sits up, doesn't make eye contact. He really is nervous.

“I've never, uh... done this before...” he mumbles. Lance sits up properly then, one eyebrow raised almost comically high. Ok, he hadn't been expecting _that_.

“Really?”

Keith face tints. “Really!” he says, his tone curt, defensive. Lance raises his hands as a shield.

“Whoa, whoa, it's ok.” He reaches forward, tucks Keith's hair back, kisses him. “We can go slow.”

“You don't... care?”

Lance snorts. “Dude, everyone's been a virgin,” he says. He remembers his first time. God, he'd been so fucking awkward, he's not entirely sure Alejandra ever forgave him. Not that that matters now. Keith still looks nervous, it's not a good look on him. Lance prefers Keith when he's self-assured and gives him a smirk that goes straight to his groin.

“Do you want to stop?” Lance asks. Keith shakes his head.

“No, I... I really want this.” He runs a hand down Lance's neck, over his chest, stopping on his hip. “I just want this to be good.”

Lance grins. He knows exactly what to do. He pushes a surprised Keith down against the bunk, slides his hand down to cup Keith's half-hard cock and bring it to full attention. Keith arches into his touch, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle a moan.

“Let me, then,” Lance says, dipping his tongue into Keith's navel and flicking the button of his pants.

* * *

**_Blood_ **

He's the first to Red when they can actually get to the planet's surface. He's never run so fast in his life, his heart in his mouth, ignoring his own bruises and pain. His side is throbbing, his chest burns, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

Red opens her mouth, allows him in. He hauls himself up, and there's Keith, sprawled in his pilot's chair. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, drips onto the white of his armour, runs in a mocking line down his chest.

Lance can hardly breathe.

“Keith!” he yells. “Keith!”

He almost sobs when Keith stirs. His eyes barely open, but it's enough that he sees Lance and smiles. It looks so wrong, mingled with the blood.

“Looks like... we did it...” Then his head slips to the side, and Lance screams his name again.

Lance is the one that wipes the blood away. Lance is the one that won't move from in front of the healing pod, barely able to sleep. Hunk brings him food he doesn't eat, Pidge wraps a blanket around his shoulders, Shiro tries to talk him into letting him take a watch. Lance still doesn't move.

It takes a whole week and a half, and Lance feels as if he's coming apart at the seems, shivering, anxious. He hasn't slept except in fits and starts, feels like he's lost weight, his limbs like lead. It's the most beautiful, powerful, glorious relief when Keith is finally awake, giving him a small, guilty smile as Lance kisses every part he can get to.

* * *

**_Love_ **

How long has it been? Years, for sure. Lance can't quite remember when his twentieth birthday was, but it's come and gone. They've grown into themselves, their armour fits better, their Lions fly smoother, the universe is a little less purple even though the fight still rages. They've collected scars and freed planets, gained allies and grown closer together.

Pidge lost their right eye, trading it in for some biomechanical wonder. Hunk got tattoos when some warrior race accepted him as one of their own. They found a lost Shiro, brought him back from the brink again, and now the Black Lion has two pilots, each a half of a whole, Allura by Shiro's side. Lance's legs were a lost cause, but there's enough technology in the universe that new, shiny ones have taken their place. And Keith... well, Keith found a father, lost him again, and gained a heritage no one would have expected.

Lance watches him sleep, yellow eyes closed, face relaxed. He looks so much younger like this, Lance muses, reaching out and tucking dark hair away from cheekbones that have sharpened over the years.

Keith stirs, flicks an ear in irritation, makes a noise that's far too cute for a grown man to be making. Lance chuckles.

“Sorry, _querido_ ,” he mutters, leaning down to brush his lips against Keith's cheek.

Keith turns his head, weaves a hand into Lance's hair, pulls him into an actual kiss.

“Apology accepted,” he says graciously, and Lance laughs again.

They settle back into bed, just looking at each other, Lance's hand on Keith's side, rubbing idle circles with his thumb.

“It's nice to just... have this,” Lance says. Keith sighs, eyes closing in bliss. Their lives are usually a mess of fighting and distress signals, of rushing against the next enemy, of planetary liberation and strategic meetings with the rest of the Universal Resistance. To sleep through a whole nightcycle, unbroken, is a rare blessing. To have a morning together, like this, is nothing short of a miracle.

If someone had told him, all those years ago when he was sixteen and believed that his life was over because he hadn't made the fighter pilot programme, that one day he'd be an intergalactic freedom fighter in love with his supposed rival, he'd have either laughed at them or actually punched them. Now here he is, four years later, Keith in his bed, in his arms... how things change.

He hooks his legs around Keith's (he never complains about the metal being cold) and drags him closer until their bodies are pressed together, chest to hip. He runs a hand up Keith's back, enjoys the soft purr he gets from his touch. He kisses him, again, again, morning breath be damned.

“I love you,” he murmurs. Keith smiles.

“I love you too,” he says back. And Lance is content.


	2. August 5th - Love/Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might replace this eventually, because it's absolutely terrible. I'm so sorry.

At first, Lance is just annoying.

He's always going on about this stupid _rivalry_ that Keith doesn't understand at all. He does everything in his power to get on Keith's last nerve, and Keith has never exactly been the kind of guy to ignore things like that, so he gives back as good as he gets. When Lance starts something, he takes the bait, and even when Lance _doesn't_ start something, he still bites because that's what Lance expects...

And for some reason, Lance's attention has become important.

* * *

The first crush Keith had ever had was on Shiro. It had been sort of a relief, because he'd been hearing about everyone else and all their crushes and weird obsession with sex and he'd never felt so much as a hint of that sort of thing for anyone. Then Shiro had appeared on tv as the youngest cadet to ever enter the space pilot corps, handsome and brave and talented, Keith had blushed and worried at the hem of his t-shirt and everything had fallen into place. He'd become determined to get into the Garrison and become a pilot, too. When Shiro had come to talk to their class, he hadn't been able to tear his eyes off him. When Shiro had said he was proud of him for making the fighter pilot programme, that he was talented and was definitely going places, he'd thought he was going to spontaneously combust. He finally knew what a crush felt like, painful and so good at the same time.

There's a huge difference in what Keith feels (felt?) for Shiro, and what he feels for Lance. Shiro is someone to admire. Lance is... a nuisance, most of the time, but somehow, along the way from rivals (in Lance's head, anyway) to teammates, he becomes some sort of an equal.

Keith is desperate to prove himself to Shiro. Lance spurs him to do better. Shiro is a guide, an example, someone whose praise makes him buoyant. Lance is the person that stands beside him, goads him, somehow makes every breath feel twice as invigorating and every flight twice as exhilarating.

He still doesn't get it for a long time, though.

* * *

Lately, he's been noticing Lance a lot more.

That morning, in the kitchen, he'd noticed the way Lance had bumped the fridge door closed with his hip, the fluidity of it. Later, after training, he'd noticed how Lance's face flushed from exertion, his grin cocky, sweat dripping down the side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

He notices the way Lance talks with his hands. He notices how Lance sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating on something. He notices how he moves with a strange confidence, like he's surprisingly comfortable in his own skin. He notices how tight Lance's jeans are on his thighs, how dusky the colour of his skin is, how soft his hair looks, how deep the blue of his eyes is.

For the first time in ages, he doesn't notice Shiro's presence in the room.

* * *

It takes a while for the penny to drop, but when it does, it feels more like a manhole cover than a coin.

And it has a lot to do with catching Lance half-naked and fresh from the shower. He'd just gone to call him because Shiro asked him to, no ulterior motive whatsoever, and... he didn't _mean_ to ogle him, it had been an accident.

Lance's door isn't locked, which Keith takes to mean he can just walk in. So he does. In hindsight, he should have knocked, but sometimes Keith isn't all that great at connecting social dots.

He stops. He stares. Lance is wearing only a towel, hanging loosely around his middle, and scrubbing at his hair. All Keith can see is smooth legs, sharp hipbones and a trail of dark hair that goes from Lance's navel to somewhere Keith suddenly feels he _really_ wants to discover. He licks his lips, breath hitching with sudden, impossible _need_.

“What the fuck, dude?!” Lance yells, dropping his hair towel and grabbing the one around his waist, gripping it with white knuckles. His face is a shade of red that wouldn't look out of place on the Red Lion. Keith can't stop staring, though, it's like his eyes are magnetically drawn to Lance's body, raking up and down, taking in every line and angle.

The moment draws ever longer, and Lance straightens up, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, can you stop staring?”

Keith finally, thankfully, comes back to reality. His face burns. “Sh-Shiro wants you on the bridge!” he blurts, before turning on his heel and running away as fast as he can.

Once he feels he's far enough, he stops, slumps against the wall, one hand over his mouth. The clarity is like a sledgehammer to the gut, and he isn't sure he likes it.

* * *

From that day on, everything is suddenly so much worse. Lance seems slightly embarrassed every time he's around Keith in any way, but Keith is sure that's nothing compared to how he is feeling. Keith wants the ground to swallow him up. Or the Castle to eject him into space. Whenever Lance is present his face is aflame and his heart starts pounding and he can't think straight (well, he's never had a crush on a girl, so he probably can't do that).

He's been thinking about Lance about ninety percent of the time, which is ninety percent more than he can actually deal with. When they form Voltron, he is acutely aware of how their minds touch, brush against each other, and while nothing is seen it still puts Keith on edge. When the Castle is in its nightcycle and it's quiet and everyone is asleep, Keith catches his mind wandering, enjoying the memory of Lance's lean form in a way that makes him _ache_.

He tries to take out this frustration on the training bots. He's reached training level four. He supposes he should thank Lance for that, but the idea of owing him anything is a bitter taste at the moment. He just wants these feelings to go away.

At least he isn't pining like a schoolgirl over Shiro anymore. Small blessings. Instead he's now pining over Lance, the worst possible object to pine over.

He lunges, sweeping his sword against the bot's. There's a ringing, the impact shudders up Keith's arm as the bot parries easily. He backs away, ready for what the bot is going to bring, but the door to the training deck opens.

That alone wouldn't be a distraction, but then, of course, it just has to be Lance to step through the door. Keith falters, missteps, chest constricted and cheeks burning, and the bot pounces. Time slows almost to a standstill, a shining blade that's too sharp for Keith's liking coming closer and closer.

There's a shot, and the bot crashes to the ground.

“T-training session suspended,” Keith says, panting with exertion and fear.

“Whoa! Whoa, did you see that?!” Lance crows. He's holding his rifle, grinning from ear to ear. “I totally saved you!” He dashes over to where Keith is sitting on the floor, still a bit windswept.

“Was that heroic or what?” Lance asks, waggling his eyebrows. “No need to thank me, all in a day's work.”

Keith looks up, finally getting his breathing back under control. “Thanks,” he mumbles. Lance's weapon glows and disappears, and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, well, uh...” He offers his hand. Keith stares at it. His own hand trembles slightly as he accepts Lance's and allows him to pull him to his feet.

Keith has never been one to allow reason to get in the way. He doesn't let go of Lance's hand. Instead, he tugs him forward, kisses him, the barest brush of lips.

“I mean it,” he says. “Thanks.”

And with that, he's gone. Because if he actually stayed there and faced the consequences of these actions, he would probably just start screaming.

“Oh no you don't!”

Keith is jerked to a halt, a deceptively strong hand wrapped around his arm. He can't read Lance's expression, so he looks away.

“You can't just kiss someone and run,” Lance says. He isn't letting Keith go, almost as if he's afraid he'll bolt if he does. And he'd be right – Keith mostly works on fight or flight, and right now, flight is clawing desperately at him. He bites his lip.

“They might want you to kiss them again,” Lance says. He sounds casual, but Keith thinks he can detect a hint of suggestiveness. He dares to look. Lance raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh, so...”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Just kiss me, idiot,” he says, pulling Keith closer and pressing their lips together.

Keith's eyelids flutter, so does his heart. It's only his second kiss, but he certainly doesn't want it to be his last.


	3. August 6th - Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, you get porn for day 3! Isn't that just delightful?
> 
> (I _will_ be changing the entirety of chapter 2 when I get the inspiration for it. I'm not happy with it at all, and it's likely I'll move it somewhere else when I do, probably to my [Tumblr](http://materassassino.tumblr.com/).)

They've been apart for a total of one week, but it feels like it's been considerably longer than that. Lance isn't sure whether it's just his hormones or the fact that Keith seems to have some sort of freakish power over him, but for a hot-blooded young man who's been used to getting a least a handjob from his boyfriend on the regular, a week seems like a year.

“You've been _insufferable_ , you know that?”

Allura occupies the spare seat in Blue's cockpit, her legs and arms crossed and a distinctly sourpuss expression on her face. Their making their way back to the castleship, and Lance is grateful. It's been like he's been running errands with his mother, or something. Very uncool.

“Yeah, well, you haven't exactly been Miss Congeniality, either,” he retorts. He chases a comet and easily outruns it. “A wormhole, please, Your Highness.”

Allura sighs and imbues the wormhole creator with her energy, projecting a portal through space, and possibly also time, onto the fabric of reality. On the other side is the planet they've taken up as temporary residence, which looks sickly from space but is actually quite pleasant once you get to know it.

God, Lance isn't going to let Keith out of bed for at least three days. He wants to be sore in all the right, uncomfortable places, bruised and raw by the time they're done. It's a nice fantasy to entertain, and he sighs wistfully.

“I hope you're not thinking about what it seems like you're thinking about,” Allura says shrewdly. Lance rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right, like you're not thinking the same thing about Shiro,” he mutters. That earns him a slap to the back of the head that vibrates through his helmet and right down his spine, making his teeth chatter. But when the world stops shaking and he looks at her, she's looking straight ahead and trying to keep down a smile.

* * *

To his horror, Keith is nowhere to be found. He searches every inch of the castleship, but there is a distinct absence of Keith in all of his usual haunts and even the ones Lance is almost certain he's never actually set foot in. He winds up in the dining hall, where Coran is intent on polishing what's probably the Altean royal equivalent of the fine silver that never gets used.

“Oh, he's out on patrol with Hunk!” Coran says cheerfully, unaware of the sheer disappointment radiating from the slumped figure at the table. Lance groans into the tabletop.

“Do you know when they'll be back?” Allura asks. Shiro shrugs.

“Soonish. They left about two hours ago and we haven't received any distress signals.”

Lance raises his head just enough to spy on Shiro and Allura. They're standing at a calculated distance from each other. Allura's hand twitches, aborting a movement to raise her hand and casually touch before it can really start. Shiro's body leans towards hers, as if subconsciously seeking her out. Lance is both bitterly jealous and disgusted. Why they keep up this ridiculous professional facade is beyond him, if they want to bone so bad, they just should.

That reminds Lance that _he_ also desperately wants to bone, and that his boyfriend could literally be anywhere in this particular solar system, lightyears away. Life is horrible and unfair.

* * *

Eventually, though, the Red and Yellow Lions return, and Lance is at the red hangar before they've even landed. He's a bit out of breath from running, but when Keith exits he's leaning casually against the wall, smirking, giving Keith his best 'come hither' look.

Keith blinks at him. Then he breaks into a radiant smile that's like fucking _sunshine_ and it makes him look like the most beautiful being to ever grace the universe with its existence and Lance feels sort of ashamed that he's only been thinking with his dick.

“You're back!” Keith says. He wastes no time in pulling Lance into a welcoming kiss and... yeah, Lance isn't guilty about thinking with his dick anymore, not when Keith's sticking his tongue in his mouth.

“Yeah! And so are you!” He grabs Keith's hand and pulls him along.

“Lance, wait, I have to do my report...”

Lance snorts. “Reports can wait.” He stops, turns, smirking again. “I kind of need your dick in my mouth right now.”

Keith erupts in a full-face blush that Lance knows disappears down his neck and spreads across his collarbone. He swallows, searching desperately for words.

“I... but... report...” he falters.

“Nope, blowjob is more important!” Lance announces gleefully.

He feels triumphant when _Keith_ is the one leading him to his room instead of the other way around. Once the door is closed, Keith spins and pulls Lance into another kiss, this one bruising, possessive, the way Keith always gets when he's turned on.

And he most definitely _is_ turned on, Lance can easily tell. Mainly because he can feel Keith's half-hard cock through the undersuit and his own jeans, because they're pressed together against the door.

“Armour off,” Lance orders, pushing him away. He falls to his knees as Keith pulls off his breastplate and dumps it on the floor, tugging down the pants of Keith's undersuit. Keith's erection is already straining against the cotton of his boxers, and Lance licks his lips, his mouth watering. He hooks his fingers in the waistband and slowly, teasingly, pulls Keith's boxers down, freeing a familiar, delicious sight. Above him, Keith hisses his approval.

Lance places one hand on Keith's hip to steady him, the other circling the base of Keith's cock. He kisses his way up the shaft, from his fingers to the head, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue once he gets there.

Keith gasps, winds a hand in Lance's hair. His legs tremble. Lance smirks.

He slides his lips over the head of Keith's cock, teasing the underside with his tongue as he descends, breathing deeply through his nose. Keith's scent is strong, so is his taste, but right now, Lance doesn't care, he's too busy concentrating on controlling his gag reflex. Slowly he edges his way down, relaxing his throat. He removes his hand, feels the head bump the back of his throat, his nose buried in the curls around the base of Keith's cock.

He rests, for a moment, humming around his mouthful just to hear Keith groan, feel him shudder, hear the slap of a hand against the wall for support. Spoiling him is no good, though, so Lance pulls back, lets Keith's cock fall from his lips, allows himself a moment to breathe before he dives right back in.

He hollows his cheeks, sucks hard, keeps his movements short and sweet. He bobs his head to a steady rhythm, knowing exactly how to twist his tongue around the head, when to reach down and cup Keith's balls, tease past them with one finger to Keith's perineum. Above him he can hear Keith moaning, he can feel the shudder in his hips. Keith wants to move _so badly_ , Lance knows it, but he never does, not until he's told he can.

Lance pulls back, blows gently over the tip, just to enjoy how Keith's cock jerks. “Go for it,” he says hoarsely.

“Lance...” Keith groans. Their eyes meet, Keith's pupils blown, barely any purple visible, Lance's half-lidded, daring him. Lance wraps his lips around the head, hums again, and Keith visibly lets go.

One hand still on the door, the other holding Lance's head still, he allows his hips to move, keeping to a harsh, needy pace. Lance moans around Keith, trembling at how he's being used, at how good the slide of Keith's cock in his mouth feels. He's so hard, he quickly fumbles with the fly of his jeans, frees his own cock and begins to strip himself desperately. God, he's needed this, he's missed this. He's missed Keith's taste, and his voice, and the feel of him and the heat of it all. He's missed losing himself in Keith like this, in whatever they do to each other.

Keith's thrusts become erratic, Lance's hand can't keep steady. With a final cry, half Lance's name, half just a guttural moan, Keith stills, spilling over Lance's tongue. Lance boldly swallows, ignoring the bitterness, and with his own stifled moan he arches, coming over his own hand.

Keith slips from his lips, forehead pressed against the door, knees trembling, panting. Lance wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his jaw aching, sighing in satisfaction.

“Hey!” His voice is raspy as he grabs the front of Keith's shirt and pulls him down. Keith doesn't resist, he just flops to the floor beside Lance, face flushed and expression blissful. He opens his eyes and smiles at Lance, and Lance can feel his heart pound, his head spin. He's so hot when he's fucked out.

Keith reaches for him, Lance goes without a moment's hesitation, presses their lips together.

“You taste disgusting,” Keith mutters, making a face. Lance sniggers.

“Whose fault is that, huh?” he says, nuzzling the side of Keith's head. “I missed you.”

Keith hums, wrapping his arms loosely around Lance's waist and kissing little nothings along the side of his neck.

“Missed you too,” he replies. “You're not going to let me report to Shiro, are you?”

Lance pretends to think for a minute. The bunk is right there, has both their names on it, and his knees and throat are sore, but he specifically wants another place to be sore. “Not for a while, at least,” he says with a smirk.

* * *

Later, though Lance doesn't exactly know how long it's been, Keith's neck is a mess of hickeys. Lance's ass is sore and he feels amazingly, rapturously boneless, his whole body wrung out like a wet rag, but in a _good_ way. Everything is sticky, dripping or drying unpleasantly, but he can't bring himself to care. He thinks he might not be able to move, but he doesn't exactly _want_ to, either. He grins up at the ceiling.

“Stop grinning,” Keith mumbles. Lance tips his head to the side, but he doesn't stop smiling at all.

“I did miss you, you know,” he says. He wants Keith to understand this, it's important. Keith chuckles.

“So did I,” Keith says, leaning forward just enough to kiss him again, slow and languid and lazy.


	4. August 7th - Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith go on a date.
> 
> Future!fic, set in the same sort of reality as the last vignette of chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action resolves itself in five seconds, this is entirely just an excuse to write about boys dancing.

Lance watches him step from the bathroom, not even bothering with a towel anymore. Seeing all that skin on display makes his dick half perk up, but it's more polite interest that he wouldn't say no to than an unquenchable need. Besides, he's also looking at Keith upside down.

“Say, when was the last time we went on a date?” he asks.

Keith stops towelling his hair and ears dry (he's always so rough, his hair would be so lovely he could be bothered to give a shit) and frowns, deep in thought.

“A few... months?” he ventures. He doesn't sound sure. Lance rolls over, props his chin up.

“You are aware we basically have the day off, right?” he says, allowing a grin to spread across his face. Keith pulls on a pair of boxers (they're kind of tight so they must be Lance's and that's always a pretty sight) and sits down on the bunk.

“You're scheming something,” Keith says, pressing a finger to Lance's nose. Lance chuckles.

“Kinda? I was thinking we could... go somewhere.”

“And where would this 'somewhere' be?”

Lance taps his chin. “There's that really nice restaurant on Fel-Talauri, the one that serves that stuff that's like kimchi you said you liked,” he suggests. “Or we could head over to Nok Tarish Be, spend the day at the beach. We could go to Garanova, I think they've got a festival happening now, or at least Pidge said they do.”

The possibilities are about as endless as the systems they've liberated and managed to hold, which are actually quite a few. Keith hums non-committally. 

“Or we could just stay here and actually get some rest,” he says drily. Lance pouts.

“Aw, come on, we never do anything. We're in _space_ , Keith. Babe, please?” He tries for the puppy dog eyes. Keith doesn't look impressed, but he sighs.

“Fine!” he says, trying not to smile as Lance whoops and kisses him on the cheek. “But we do need to ask first.”

“You'd think we weren't adults already,” Lance muses, hopping off the bed and pulling on a sweater, followed by a pair of jeans he's cut off just above the knee, like with most of his trousers, to show off his metal legs. Keith huffs.

“Yeah, we may be adults, but we're also part of a team. We kind of have leaders to answer to.”

Lance rolls his eyes. Keith just pecks him on the cheek.

* * *

They find both Shiro and Allura where they expected them to be: in the recreation lounge, Shiro's head in Allura's lap as she reads, one hand on his chest, their fingers laced together. When Shiro's like this, he doesn't look quite so old, so scarred, so weary. Hell eases away from his brow.

“Hey, we're skipping town for the day,” Lance announces, sliding over the back of the couch and landing next to Allura with a grin.

Shiro opens an eye. “Where are you headed?”

“We haven't decided yet,” Keith admits. He leans over the back of the sofa and gives Shiro a redundant wave.

“Well, just don't get into trouble,” Shiro says, closing his eyes again. “Be careful.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You'd think we got into trouble whenever we decided to go anywhere.”

“That's because you do,” Allura says drolly, giving Lance a pointed look. He grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, well, ok... We won't this time.” He hops up off the couch, hands in his pockets. “We'll be back in a bit.” He grabs Keith by the wrist and drags him out towards the hangars.

Allura waves them off, then looks down at Shiro. “We could go on a date as well, you know,” she muses. Shiro opens his eyes, looks up at her, rubs the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Do you want to?” he asks. She purses her lips thoughtfully.

“Not particularly,” she says with a chuckle, and he smiles when she leans down to kiss him.

* * *

“I still can't believe you wouldn't let me fly.”

Lance is sitting in the spare seat, arms folded. He's been pouting for roughly the whole ride, ever since they left the red hangar instead of the blue one.

“Red's faster, aren't you, girl?” Keith says, patting one of the sticks proudly. Lance glares at him.

“Blue's better,” he mutters. “So... where are we going?”

“Tzikados 3,” Keith replies.

Sure enough, below them is a small planet shrouded in dark grey clouds. Lance leans forward with a grin. He knows how much of a bastard it is to get through the atmosphere, but he also knows how good the club scene is in the capital Rovek. It's the place to go if you want to party.

Tzikados 3 wasn't exactly _liberated_ , but it hadn't exactly been taken over, either. It managed to pay enough tribute to Zarkon to stay out of the worst of harm's way, but it hadn't lost any time in converting to the Voltron cause once the rest of their system had been freed.

Lance still remembers the hangover from the last time they were here. It had been agony, but totally worth it. He also remembers that this is where Nyma the bounty hunter comes from.

They land beside one of the many domed buildings. Wherever they face, the horizon is scarred with lightning that could kill ten humans with one strike, but Rovek is right in the middle of the eye of the storm. Keith's speeder gets them through the thick city traffic, dodging other speeders and groundcraft until they reach a familiar place.

 _Joroni's_ is the only place this side of the galaxy that has music that doesn't make human bones shake and ears bleed, and the only place where the alcohol doesn't burn a hole in mammalian digestive systems. Lance fucking loves it, it's got stuff that tastes like rum, but better. He should take a bottle back to his father when they get back to Earth.

Keith parks his speeder and Lance hops off the back, feeling eager. He can feel the beat already as they move towards the door, running up his legs, plucking at the metal like it's guitar strings.

“I wasn't expecting this,” he admits, hands in his pockets as he waits for Keith to dismount. Keith shrugs.

“I know you like it,” he says. Lance grins, winds a hand around Keith's waist and kisses him for that. Keith flushes a little, he's always cute when Lance plants a surprise one on him, and he takes Lance by the hand. “Come on.”

Inside, it's exactly as Lance remembered it: the flashing lights, the bar, the glowing drinks, the glowing _dancers_ , the music moving smoothly from one song to another. Above them float orbs that pulsate with light to the time of the music. The room pounds with the beat, a steady rhythm like the club's own heartbeat. It also throbs with life, a girl with skin that pulsates in bright patterns in time with the music dances on a platform, lit from underneath, while beyond her a guy, more amphibian, writhes and swims in tight curls in a tank full of water. Beneath them a crowd pulsates, grinding and mingling in counterpoint. Bordering them are booths and tables surging with people drinking and laughing and kissing.

Joroni herself is behind the bar, and recognises them.

“Ah, the Paladins!” she says. She's the same species as Nyma, but her skin is blue, covered in shimmering tattoos. “What'll it be?”

“Two namshis,” Lance says, holding his fingers up. He sways his hips in time to the beat, keeping an eye on the throng on the dancefloor. That's another Tzikados 3 guarantee: the party goes on for as long as a day-cycle, which is two and a half Earth days. There's two clicks and a pair of shot glasses filled with neon green liquid are placed on top of the bar.

 _“¡Salud!”_ Lance says, clinking their glasses together and tossing it back. Keith follows suit, shaking his head once the liquid goes down. He's never been great with his alcohol, and the drinks here are vicious, for human palates.

Pleasantly buzzing with namshi and the beat, Lance leads them to the dancefloor, to the oscillating bodies where the music is heaviest and most hypnotic, pulls him close and begins to grind.

Keith doesn't have Lance's flexibility, but Lance loves seeing him dance. He gets lost in it, eyes glowing in the dark, body moving to the beat. Lance keeps the tiniest, teasing distance between them, undulating in time, Keith's hands on his waist, teasing the sliver between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

It's easy to just let go like this, to let the music take them. Lance presses back, sliding a hand around to grip Keith's thigh, pull him closer, chest to back. Keith's lips brush his neck, his ear, a hint of sharp teeth. Everything else disappears until it's just the two of them, and the beat. All they are is bodies, hot, writhing, bathed in light and drenched in rhythm. No one makes the mistake of trying to come between them.

One song blends seamlessly into another, they become breathless and more than a little turned on. Keith looks gorgeous flushed, half-hard, and Lance can't resist it. He reaches forward, pulls him into a deep kiss, all searching tongue and teeth. Keith moans into his mouth, hands on Lance's ass, and they grind in earnest, Lance's hips bucking, the music forgotten in favour of each other.

 _Too soon,_ Lance thinks hazily.

“I think,” he gasps, “I need a drink.”

Keith nods, lets Lance lead him away from the rest of the dancers, to the bar again. They don't order namshi this time, though. Naigoya is the way to go.

Joroni presents them with a glowing orb, rainbow-coloured, that floats between them. Lance loves this one: it packs a kick, and offers the best excuse for a kiss that tastes of booze. Keith catches it in his gravity, guiding it with him as he returns to the dancefloor, Lance following like Keith is a piper. They stop, close, the orb hovering between them, and Lance sucks it out of the air, Keith's features distorted through the liquid, until the last few drops catch on his tongue and he exchanges them with Keith.

That just leads them back into the beat and dancing, close together, hungry for each other. The dancefloor shifts, changes, disappears so they're dancing on air. Above them, sprinklers open, the paint they shower like Joroni's tattoos, and it shimmers on their skin, making their contours iridescent. Lance's head spins with alcohol and arousal, Keith glittering in front of him, beckoning him. His hands go to Keith's ass, pull him closer, he licks a strip up Keith's neck.

A shot jerks them both out of their own little world. Immediately, their bayards are out, Keith's sword and Lance's rifle. The music cuts out, someone screams, the rest is silence.

“Fucking _great_ ,” Lance mutters in annoyance. He just wanted to come out and have a good time with his boyfriend, not get attacked. Shiro's gonna kill them.

By the door stand two Galra soldiers, but with their out-of-date, mismatched uniforms and non-standard guns, they have the air of renegades. Both are scanning the club.

“Where are the Paladins?!” one barks. The only person who doesn't look intimidated is Joroni herself - she just looks annoyed.

“You want the Paladins?”

“We know they're here,” says the other Galra. “We saw the Lion.”

Joroni shrugs. “Fine. Have them.” She ducks down behind the bar, and everyone else is wise enough to hit the floor.

That's when Lance shoots. He gets one of them square in the chest, but his breastplate takes the impact and he only stumbles back. Keith is already there, bringing his sword down on the other, who blocks with his rifle. He's bulkier than Keith, which means he's slower, and Keith dodges him easily. He pulls out his dagger and sinks it in the Galra's leg, making him yowl in pain.

Meanwhile, Lance is dealing with the first guy. He rolls behind a booth to avoid shots, wills his bayard to change shape. He gets a handgun, uses it for short burst of shots, aiming for the guy's knees. The shout of pain and the thud makes him grin. He peers out from the booth and sees his adversary down, gripping his legs as he thrashes in agony. Keith stands next to him with his foot on the other's hand and his sword at his throat. He looks _hot_ like that.

“Traitor!” spits Keith's downed opponent. Keith scoffs and twists his foot, making the Galra beneath him groan.

“Sorry about that, Joroni,” Lance says as he walks over, his bayard now a rifle once again and trained on the Galra he's kneecapped.

Joroni re-emerges from her refuge behind the bar, huffing. “Annoying,” she says, shaking her head. “Get rid of them before they bleed everywhere.”

“As you wish, ma'am.”

Keith and Lance drag them outside, tie them up, and leave them, but not before paying. As they leave the music starts up again, but it's not for them anymore.

“So much for a day off,” Lance says in annoyance. He kicks one of the Galra spitefully, hands shoved in his pockets.

Keith checks his phone. “We still have a while... How about we check out Nok Tarish Be?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nah, let's go home.” He drags Keith over to him and presses a kiss to his still-shimmering cheek.


End file.
